


Sam's Guide to Remaining Uninvolved

by sunny_tanner (bipallidan)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2020-06-25 09:22:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19742767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipallidan/pseuds/sunny_tanner
Summary: Since Sam's Second Year, shit has always gone down at Hogwarts. He soon came to realize that said shit always revolves around, or mostly affects, the three Gryffindors a class under him and those they associate with. Since this revelation, he has done his absolute best to remain completely uninvolved with that mess. It would be a lot easier if each of his brief, unintentional interactions with the Boy Who Lived would stop occurring so frequently.





	1. Sam's Guide to Remaining Uninvolved

Since Sam's Second Year, shit has always gone down at Hogwarts. He soon came to realize that said shit always revolves around, or mostly affects, the three Gryffindors a class under him and those they associate with. Since this revelation, he has done his absolute best to remain completely uninvolved with that mess. It would be a lot easier if each of his brief, unintentional interactions with the Boy Who Lived that happen every once in a terrible while weren't so pleasant. 

This would also be a lot easier if everyone around him didn't regularly communicate with the main group or their immediate connections. He'd gone so far in his attempt to stay away, that he'd essentially sworn off any of their acquaintances as well. This makes friendship hard. Due to this, Sam has two sure friends: Talbot Ferral, who's too spiteful to care about anything, and Jerry Baker, who's too high to ever know what to care about. 

Join him in his doomed-to-fail plan to escape the shitshow that is attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with Harry Potter and his Crew as a classmate.


	2. Sam Explains Gnomes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to Sam's immediate family, as well as his best friend's first appearance.

Ah, summer. Sam was a big fan of the summertime. Not only because he didn't have classes, but also because summer was safe. Summer was predictable. His mother quite liked to plan out and establish any big summer activities beforehand so there were no surprises. She kept these plans on a big chalkboard calendar in the kitchen. Their biggest plan for this summer was one they could expect to attend every time it came around: the Quidditch World Cup. This was mainly because his dad worked for the League as an organizer and they often got free tickets, but also because they really liked watching it. 

Surely this year would go smoothly just like all the others have, right? Right. If there was one thing some dramatic, possibly life-threatening, death eater or He Who Must Not Be Named related event couldn't fuck up, it was quidditch. At least... quidditch that didn't take place at Hogwarts. Harry Potter was involved in those quidditch games. His involvement in anything drew those kinds of events. Not that Sam blamed him for this, no. He was sure the guy didn't like being involved so much, either. He can't imagine being nearly killed at least once a year when you're just trying to get an education is something to be desired. Which is exactly why it's not something Sam desires. In fact, it is something Sam religiously avoids. 

Sam was quite content with living out his life as a background character in all the commotion, especially when it guaranteed survival. Or at least a study-focused school year. But he didn't need to think about that right now. All he had to worry about was whether or not his best friend was going to sneak firewhiskey up to the stands and throw up on a passing player. After the last quidditch game he invited him along to, he seriously doubted inviting him again. This cup, though, Talbot's favorite team was playing. How could Sam deny him the chance to wear an obnoxiously large shamrock hat and yell at a field?

With that singular, slightly comical, worry on his mind, he made his way into the kitchen. He was immediately greeted by the chalkboard calendar resting just above the dining table. Sure enough, there it read: "Quidditch World Cup," circled, underlined, and everything. In case you couldn't tell they were excited about it, his father had gracefully added some stars and exclamation points all over the day's box as well. Speaking of, where is that man? 

Sam wandered around the kitchen and the living room. His dad wasn't in either of those rooms unless he was hiding in a cabinet or something. He wouldn't put it past him. If his dad was hiding in a closet, Sam could expect to hear suppressed giggling at any moment. If there was anything he and his parents had in common, it was the inability to hide in things. His father couldn't fit in most of his hiding places, his mother couldn't avoid the book club she'd been trying to leave for three years, Sam couldn't stay in the closet for the life of him... 

Anyway, enough about that. This is a dad hunt. 

He used the glass door leading from the living room to take his search outdoors. The backyard was pretty standard aside from the garden in the middle that had clearly been abandoned at some point during the summer. Starting projects and not keeping up with them was a family tradition. 

Sam heard inaudible grumbling coming from his right and started in that direction. He found his dad by the side of the house, kicking lightly at a lawn gnome. "Dad."

His did not turn to look at Sam but kept his focus on the gnome. "Morning, Sam. I'm just trying to get this thing to leave." 

"Dad, that's one of mom's gnomes. It's not sentient. It's ceramic." 

His dad stopped kicking and planted his foot back onto the grass. "Oh." 

"Yeah."

The man gave a frown, staring down at the gnome as if it had tricked him out of ten galleons. "I forgot muggles do that." 

Not all muggles. Just the ones that like decorative lawn gnomes. Sam wasn't going to have this conversation with his dad again, though. They both watched the lawn gnome for a rather unnecessary amount of time before his dad clapped his hands together.

"Alright! We should get going soon. I got us a close portkey. Could you wake your mom?" 

Sam gave a nod and started back inside. When he opened the door, his task was cut short, as his mother was already hurriedly sliding omelets onto plates. "Ah! Sam. Good. I just finished."

He'd only been outside for five minutes, and she'd already woken up, gotten dressed, went downstairs, and made omelets. He had to admire her efficiency. Though it was probably to avoid a similar incident to last time, when they missed their portkey because they all took too long trying to make strawberry pancakes together and Sam kept burning his. 

He made his way over to the dining table and sat down in front of one of the served omelets, picked up the fork resting next to it, and began to eat. His dad came in a couple of minutes later, proclaiming how lovely to the "very decorative lawn gnomes" look this morning, and began eating his omelet as well. 

There was a knock on the door right as they had both finished their omelets, and it took two seconds before the visitor just opened it and walked in without the need for an invitation. Talbot Ferral stood grinning in the doorway, obnoxiously large shamrock hat already resting on top of his brown hair. "Ready to KICK SOME ASS." 

"Talbot," said Sam's mother exasperatingly. 

"Hello, Melanie and Noron Port!" exclaimed Talbot in return. "Thank you for letting Sam invite me again, even though I threw up that one time." 

"There will be no firewhiskey this time," stated Noron.

Talbot nodded once, twice, three times. "Absolutely. No firewhiskey. Firewhiskey bad." 

Sam's dad took one glance at his watch and shot out of his chair, then the three of them— Talbot, Noron, and Sam— hurried out of the door and towards their portkey, which was about a block away by the woods.


	3. Sam Almost Falls into a Well

Sam was on the ground. He really, really hated traveling by portkey. It wouldn't have been so bad simply tumbling over if Talbot had not tumbled on top of him and his obnoxious shamrock hat wasn't suffocating him. Sam swatted at it and Talbot moved away. "Next time, could we just side-apparate with you?" 

"You've thrown up every time we've tried," reminded Noron. 

Sam grumbled a bit to himself and stood before following his dad and Talbot towards a couple of poorly dressed wizards. Very poorly dressed. One of them offered a "Nice hat," to Talbot to which he responded, "Nice poncho." 

"Ah," said the poncho wizard, glancing down at his attire. "So that is what it's called." 

Talbot nodded and the poncho wizard turned to Sam's dad. "Good morning, Noron." 

Noron handed the wizard their portkey— a rusty hubcap— and it landed in the pile right next to an old, worn boot. Noron and the poncho wizard exchanged a rather short conversation about how busy things are, and then they were told their spot was in the first field. They head off that way. 

"So... question," said Talbot. "They couldn't have looked at some properly dressed mannequins at the store or Muggles walking past while obtaining that clothing? Or is there a storage facility of discarded Muggle clothes someplace and you're just assigned an outfit?" 

"I have no idea, but imagine being assigned an outfit by the Magical Games and Sports Department," answered Sam.

"Don't have to," Noron pitched in. "Pretty sure we were just looking at Ludo Bagman's newest collection." 

Talbot snorted and returned a comment, but Sam had tuned out by now. There were a lot of people here. He caught bits and pieces of conversations, some in languages he knew little of, some he didn't know at all, and some conversations he understood perfectly well but certainly did not want to listen in on. He decided to focus more on the general ambiance when he heard something along the lines of, "Why do they put a zipper right in front of my—"

Someone's having a difficult time figuring out Muggle clothing. 

Sam felt someone grab his elbow and turned to see that his dad and Talbot had stopped walking. He stopped as well and glanced around their spot. The people around them seemed to have already set up their tents— some a little less inconspicuously magical than others. 

Talbot eyed a floating tent two spaces down and leaned over to mutter quietly to Sam, "They know Muggles don't levitate their tents, right?" 

Sam responded in the same tone. "No." 

As Noron took out their tent and began to struggle with it, he declared that they would need some water for later and that he absolutely, positively had the tent under control and no, he did not need Talbot to show him how to do it. 

With a shrug, Talbot and Sam took off in the direction Noron swore the public well was in. There was a lot to observe on their walk. They started a game where they'd rate tents out of ten for their stealth, had they really attempted to blend in at a campsite with only other Muggles camping. A couple of tents received a negative one. Quite a few received a ten, including one that seemed to be occupied by one of their classmates, whom Sam knew for sure lived with their Muggle father. Props to them for having the home advantage. 

After having to drag Talbot through the bulk of the most avid Ireland supporters and away from the rather expensive merchandise to keep him from spending all his money in one go, they finally reached the well. There seemed to be a few people waiting to get water, though. 

Talbot and Sam stepped forward as the group in the front got their water and left. Just a couple people ahead of them, Sam spotted some rather familiar looking bushy brown hair. Wherever she was, the other two always seemed to be. He nudged Talbot, attempting to communicate with him that they should leave the line, but Talbot didn't seem to get the hint. "You alright, Sam?" he asked. 

Sam narrowed his eyes at him. 

"What?" Talbot really was awful at nonverbal cues. Sam dropped his look and looked forward at the group, hoping by some miracle Talbot would just follow his gaze. "Sam, what the f—?"

A boy with black hair standing next to Hermione began to turn his head in their direction and Sam ducked behind some passing wizards. They were moving, though, so he was forced to follow in their direction or risk being exposed. He began to suspect that maybe he was overreacting to this particular situation. After all, maybe Harry wouldn't even recognize him. He had never had a conversation with the guy. Unfortunately, he was deep into this makeshift plan now. 

"Sam!" called Talbot. The wizards Sam was hiding behind took a sharp turn, he was elbowed out of the way by another group and stumbled sideways. Before Sam could even register the shit he'd gotten himself into, he was tumbling into the well. 

His head nearly hit the brick inside but someone grabbed his arm, then someone else got hold of his other one. Together they hoisted him out. An unfamiliar voice asked him if he was ok. What with being suddenly upside down, and then immediately no longer upside down, it had thrown him for quite the loop. His eyes took a long moment to adjust, as they had gone fuzzy with all the commotion. When they finally did, he was staring right at a rather confused looking Harry Potter. "Are you ok?" repeated Hermione next to him. 

"Um. Yeah," Sam responded. He wasn't sure how to explain how he got into this situation, and Merlin, he hoped they wouldn't ask. "Thanks." 

Talbot had shoved his way through the line by now to get to Sam. "Holy shit, it would not have been fun explaining to your dad that you fell into a well." 

"You're from Hogwarts, right?" asked Ron. "Talbot, and uh..." Knowing Talbot's name was a given. He was on the Gryffindor quidditch team. Sam was about to give an answer, but he didn't quite get the chance to. "Oh, right, yeah. You're the guy that came out last year." 

Sam really didn't know how to respond to that. Hermione smacked Ron on the arm. "I mean, true, I guess," said Sam. "But my name's Sam. For future reference." 

There probably wouldn't be a future reference, but Sam would rather not be known as either "The Guy That Came Out Last Year" or "The Guy That Fell Into A Well."

They were quiet for a long moment until Harry announced, "We should probably get our water and head back. Bye, Sam. Careful with the well." 

The trio got their water and departed, leaving Sam and Talbot with a grumbling group of wizards very upset with Talbot's previous actions that involved a lot of elbowing and line cutting.


	4. Sam Gets Lost in the Woods

After the quidditch match's events were over, it was clear that Talbot was in a good mood. He was excitedly waving around a little flag he'd bought and humming to himself as they made their way back to their tent. For once, he was actually among the least intense celebrators, as they could hear a rather loud collection of singing and celebratory fireworks behind them. 

Sam was sure Talbot would be gunning to join the celebrations had he not already been exhausted from all the yelling he did in the stands earlier. 

When they reached the tent, Sam and Talbot wandered inside. Sam's dad was still out, as he was on duty to make sure the celebrations didn't get too out of hand. Talbot fell into his bed and passed out without even bothering to change into his pajamas, still clutching his miniature flag. Sam actually managed to change before getting into bed and falling asleep not too long after. 

His dreams that night were uneventful, as they often were. They were mostly realistic or plausible things. Tonight's was in choppy sequences consisting of Sam looking for his misplaced textbook around the Ravenclaw dormitory and also convincing Talbot to not get a tattoo of a butt on his butt. 

He was shaken awake by Talbot, who was thankfully not holding sketches of butt tattoos. Talbot was often a light sleeper and tended to wake up in the middle of the night over just about anything, but he always avoided waking Sam up in the process. The fact that this was deliberate set off some warning alarms. The alarms intensified when he noticed the screaming coming from outside the tent in all sorts of directions.   
  
As Sam's eyes adjusted to the light, he saw his father and Talbot standing over him. "Let's get going," said his father, throwing a jacket at him and racing out of the tent.   
  
As bewildered as he was, he decided it would be best to not ask questions, and scrambled out of bed. Sam struggled to put the jacket on as he and Talbot followed his father out. Eventually, he got both of his arms through the sleeves and picked up his pace.   
  
His father pointed towards the woods. "Go straight. Don't stop until you reach the other side." In any other circumstance, Talbot would be making a joke about Sam 'going straight,' but now was certainly not the time. "I'm going to go check the other tents."   
  
Talbot grabbed Sam's arm and they took off towards the trees. There were a lot of people racing around the grounds, and he was grateful Tal had thought of holding on, otherwise, they'd have been separated in an instant. Though come to think of it, it might've been more instinct for him than anything else. He could remember plenty of instances where Talbot had reached for him or Jerry when in distress.   
  
After they pushed through a particularly thick crowd of people, he could vaguely make out a group of dark figures marching in the distance. "Fuck," was the only comment Talbot had to make of it. They continued running.   
  
When they crossed into the forest, they made a few feet in before they heard a loud bang, and Sam slammed his face into a tree. He echoed Talbot's comment from earlier. As Talbot asked if he was alright, Sam brought a hand up to his face. Blood stained his fingers where they had touched his nose, and it was now dangerously close to trickling into his mouth. "This night really could _not_ get any worse," he claimed.   
  
Sam glanced over to Talbot for a second opinion, but his friend was staring up into the sky. He followed his gaze to a very familiar, notorious green skull.   
  
"Never mind," he corrected.   
  
"We should—" started Talbot. "We should um— get going." He turned to Sam. "Your nose is bleeding? That. Yeah, that's not good." He numbly took one of his gloves off and held it out to him. "Use that." It was one of the few things of the collection of Ireland Quidditch team merchandise Talbot had bought today.   
  
Sam knitted his eyebrows together in concern but took the glove and held it up to his nose. They continued at a half-jog into the woods. Neither of them said anything. Sam knew it might be particularly jarring for Talbot, as a Muggle-born, to see that kind of thing tonight. But Sam's own family had been at risk during the time that mark often appeared over people's homes. It was something neither of them wanted to talk about at the moment.   
  
After it felt like they'd been walking forever, they heard a voice from their right. "Hey! Are you guys ok?"   
  
Sam glanced over as someone stuck an illuminated wand in their faces. The blood had soaked through the glove at this point, and would reasonably concern an onlooker.

"Merlin, what the hell happened to you?"  
  
The voice sounded familiar, but Sam still couldn't see who it was because of the bright ass light in his eyes.   
  
"Ron, don't point it in his face!" said another.   
  
Ah. Them again. Figures.   
  
The wand was moved away from him and his eyes began to adjust again. Talbot was still rather quiet but looked a lot less tense than he did when they first saw the Dark Mark. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were huddled together, watching Sam and the glove.   
  
"I ran into a tree," answered Sam finally. "There was a noise, and— anyway, it's bleeding. Obviously. You probably didn't need me to tell you that."   
  
Hermione stepped away from the other two and moved Sam's arm aside, raising her wand and muttering a spell. There was a warm feeling in his nose and the blood stopped.   
  
"Thanks."   
  
Talbot, having finally gotten his voice back, decided to pitch in on the conversation. "So, what are you three doing standing around, then?"   
  
Harry was the one to answer that. "It's a long story. We should get going."  
  
Sam simply gave a nod. He wasn't really in the mood for a story, anyway. He figured Talbot wasn't either. Though Harry did seem a bit more irritated than he usually did in the few, brief interactions he'd had with him. Must've been quite the story.   
  
  
  
When the commotion died down, and mostly everyone had gathered on the other side of the clearing, Sam's dad found him and Talbot. He looked disheveled and shaken, but relieved. He wrapped Sam up into the tightest hug he'd ever received, picking him up off the ground as he did so. "I'm glad you're ok," he said. It was one of his versions of telling Sam he loved him without really saying it. It was often a difficult thing for him to express.   
  
Though he was partially smooshed into it, Sam could see over his dad's shoulder. He spotted the Weasleys in the distance, also receiving various hugs from their dad. To the left of them stood Harry Potter, and for a moment they made eye contact. Harry offered a still wave.   
  
Sam didn't return it. 


	5. Sam Witnesses Accidental Vandalism

It was pouring rain by the time Sam was on board the Hogwarts express. After he had finished waving goodbye to his parents through the window, he picked up his luggage and shuffled towards the back of the train where the prefect area was.

His shiny new Ravenclaw Prefect badge had come in the mail a couple of days before the break was supposed to end. Sent with it was a note of instruction from one Albus Dumbledore detailing his new duties as Prefect and adding that yes, Sam, it is in fact too late to turn the position down, which is why he mailed it so close to the end of summer vacation.   
  
As academically inclined as he was, Sam had mentioned previously to Professor Flitwick that a title such as Prefect was not something he was particularly interested in nor should be considered for. However, Flitwick and Dumbledore seem to have thought otherwise. In fact, Flitwick had often brought up time and time again to Sam that getting a little involved in the people and events happening around him wasn't going to hurt anybody. Then Sam would proceed to direct him to an example of whatever crazy incident was happening or had happened that year.   
  
Maybe being a Prefect wouldn't be so bad. He heard the bathroom was nice.   
  
When he reached the back of the train, there were various Prefects lounging around in what seemed to be a basic sitting room. The chairs were like those in the compartments but pushed up against all three sides. It took up one big cart, rather than be separated by walls and doors. Sam sat down on the edge of one of the long, red couches. Across from him sat Cedric Diggory. He offered Sam a wave.   
  
Cedric was a Hufflepuff Prefect, and a seventh year. Last year, the year that Sam decided to come out, apparently Cedric had laughed at a joke one of his then friends had made about it. This made the guy feel terrible in hindsight, and since then he's been trying way too hard to be friendly to Sam to make up for it. Although he'd accepted Cedric's apology on three separate occasions, Cedric seemed adamant to befriend him.   
  
It's not that Sam didn't think he would be a good friend— the dude was great— it was just kind of odd to feel so guilty about a joke Sam wasn't even there to hear. He hadn't apologized a fourth time, though, and it had been a year since the last one. Ah, fuck it. Sam waved back. 

Cedric seemed pleased with this as he turned back to his ongoing conversation with a Gryffindor Prefect. 

Thankfully, they weren't expected to stay back there the entire train ride. The Head Boy and Head Girl came by just a few minutes after that interaction to explain a few things to them, and then they were free to go. Sam stood and made his way back up the train to search for his friends. Hopefully, Jerry and Talbot had found each other already. 

Everyone had already grouped up in compartments by the time he was making his way through the train, so there wasn't much to dodge except for the trolley lady, of whom he purchased a few assorted bags of candy from before continuing. 

As he moved forward, he spotted Malfoy and his two bodyguards standing outside of one of the compartments. Just behind them, a familiar face popped out from the doors to the neighboring seating area. Jerry, with a big grin on his face and horrendously messy brown hair, gave Sam a wave. An excited glint appeared in his eye as he spotted the bags of candy dangling from Sam's hands. He said something before going back inside, but it couldn't be heard over Malfoy's obnoxious cackle as he walked away, which was soon followed by the glass to the compartment in front of him shattering.   
  
Sam froze in front of the now-destroyed door, his shoes covered in glass shards. He knew who he was about to see to his left. He just knew. There was only one group of people he ever ran into like this. " _Ron!_ " scolded Hermione as she turned to Sam. "I'm so sorry. Are you alright?"   
  
Sam glanced at the other two behind her. Ron was fuming with his arms crossed and gaze directed towards the window, while Harry gave him an awkward, apologetic, cheek-puffed smile.   
  
"I'm fine," he answered quickly. "I've had worse incidents."   
  
Notably, the one with the well just a couple of weeks ago. Which they were also there to witness. 

"Don't move," said Hermione, before muttering, " _Reparo!_ " The glass promptly removed itself from Sam's feet and arranged back into a sliding door. 

Sam could probably leave now. For some reason, though, he hadn't continued walking. He was zoning out. "Congrats on Prefect, by the way," said Harry. Sam gave a half-distracted nod of thanks and finally ducked into the compartment that held Jerry and Talbot. 

As soon as he entered, he was greeted with a loud "CAAANDY!" from Jerry. He plopped one into his lap and sat down next to Talbot. The former friend then began eating from the bag, just nearly remembering to take the wrapping off.   
  
"What the hell happened out there?" asked Talbot, the only friend who paid attention to things. 

"A door broke. It's fixed now," answered Sam honestly. "Did you guys find each other alright?"

"Oh, yeah. Jerry couldn't find me or you, so he sat down cross-legged in the hallway until I stumbled upon him. Wasn't too difficult to find with the grumbling crowd of students trying to step around him."   
  
That was a very Jerry thing to do. Sam glanced up at his eccentric friend, who was now pouring out the candies from the bag to sort them by color. He'd eat the green ones first, probably. 

"In other news, my foster mom wouldn't let me pack my shamrock hat. And apparently, it's not funny to use that as a reason to call my caseworker."   
  
Through a mouthful of green candies, Jerry added, "Based on the photo, I think he looked very handsome in it."   
  
Sam thought back to when that hat almost suffocated him. "Sure." 

Talbot often sent Jerry photos of random things over the summers, since Jerry thought it was funny how the pictures didn't move. He'd pin them directly onto his wall with pushpins, much to his parents' dismay. Sam could imagine a photo of Talbot grinning in a shamrock hat hanging above his desk. 

The rest of the journey was spent relaying to Jerry the entirety of the events of the Quidditch World Cup— Talbot made sure to include Sam almost falling into a well, in great detail— and Jerry recounting his trip to France. Most of his highlights were about the things he stole from shops. 

Once the train pulled into the station, the three of them used whatever they could to cover themselves from the pouring rain as they headed towards the carriages.   
  



	6. Sam Is Befriended By Some Cool Kids

Sam, Talbot, and Jerry raced from the carriages into the large entryway of Hogwarts castle. Everyone else was in a similar haste to get inside from the rain, and Peeves the Poltergeist had apparently taken the opportunity to capitalize on their pain for his enjoyment. After they had shaken off the rain from their robes, they overheard Professor McGonagall yelling at the ghost as a few plunks and splashes followed him down the hall, as well as some laughter.

They followed their peers into the Great Hall, where they had to split to join their various houses at their assigned tables. Talbot drifted off towards Gryffindor with a farewell nod, Jerry gave a wave before splitting off to find a seat with his fellow Slytherins, and Sam meandered over to the where the Ravenclaws had gathered. 

There were few other Ravenclaws Sam spoke to on a regular basis, though he seemed to get along with most of them just fine. Well enough to not have difficulty finding a seat, that is. On this occasion, he managed to plop down in an empty spot next to Cho Chang, who offered him a smile. 

She was always rather friendly to everyone. It's probably what made her so popular. He had yet to forget last year when she had approached him in the dormitory to ask for some help on an assignment. She'd said that Sam seemed rather nonjudgemental, and she had felt silly about the charm she was stuck on. She'd cracked the biggest grin when he mentioned that he struggled with it, too. He wondered if she'd passed the exam. He was about to ask, but then the sorting hat had been placed on the stool and was about to sing. 

The murmur of conversation all throughout the Great Hall ended, and the hat opened at a tear near the brim to sing: 

_A thousand years or more ago,  
When I was newly sewn,   
There lived four wizards of renown,  
Whose names are still well known:  
Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,  
Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,  
Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,  
Shrewd Slytherin, from fen,  
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,  
They hatched a daring plan  
To educate young sorcerers  
Thus Hogwarts School began.  
Now each of these four founders  
Formed their own house, for each  
Did value different virtues  
In the ones they had to teach.  
By Gryffindor, the bravest were  
Prized far beyond the rest;  
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest  
Would always be the best;  
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were  
Most worthy of admission;  
And power-hungry Slytherin  
Loved those of great ambition.  
While still alive they did divide  
Their favorites from the throng,  
Yet how to pick the worthy ones  
When they were dead and gone?  
'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,  
He whipped me off his head  
The founders put some brains in me   
So I could choose instead!  
Now slip me snug around your ears,  
I've never yet been wrong,  
I'll have a look inside your mind  
And tell where you belong! _

Both students and staff applauded and the sorting hat closed again. It then went quiet as Professor McGonagall unrolled a scroll of parchment and began explaining the sorting instructions to the First Years.   
  
The first to be sorted, "Ackerly, Stewart," ended up in Ravenclaw, and Sam stood to clap and cheer along with his table. The rest of the sorting went as per usual, and once it was over, Dumbledore stood to give an announcement— also as per usual. 

Compared to other years, he had very little to say. He opened his arms wide before declaring, "I have only two words to say to you. _Tuck in._ " 

The plates then began to magically fill with food of all kinds while the hall erupted back into bunches of tiny conversations. Sam found himself roped into Cho's, almost immediately. "Right, Sam?" she had asked, while he was focused on filling his plate.

"Hm?" he responded, looking up from the spoonful of pudding he'd just plopped onto the dishware. 

"The transfiguration exam we had near the end of our fourth year. That's the same every year?" 

Sam took a quick glance around the table. It seemed he was the only one in Cho's immediate vicinity in the same year as her. "I think so," he answered. "Professor McGonagall probably switches the questions around a bit, but she kept that unit at the end of the year for a reason, if I remember correctly." 

Cho nodded and turned back to her friend. Sam turned back to his food. 

A few minutes later, she turned to him again. "We were thinking about going as a group for the first Hogsmeade weekend this year. Would you want to come with us?"   
  
Oh. Well. Sam had to think about this. He'd never really hung out with anyone besides Talbot and Jerry before. They were safe, and predictable, albeit a bit trouble-making. He could still _expect_ them to make trouble, though. He had no idea what Cho and her friends were like.   
  
She was so unbearably likable, though. Something about her made you want to be her friend, whether you wanted new friends or not. "Um. Yeah. Sure."  
  
No going back now. He's going to Hogsmeade with a group of notably popular Ravenclaws, and possibly more things after that if they decide he's not boring. He turned back to his plate again and continued to eat, periodically being included in bits of a conversation by Cho for either a second opinion or a fact check. 

After everyone had cleared off their plates, some a few times over, Dumbledore stood once more and the hall again dove into silence. 

"So!" said Dumbledore with a characteristically cheerful smile. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it. 

"As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. 

It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year." There was a general grumble of discontent. Cho, the Seeker for the Ravenclaw team, turned to share with Sam a look of concern. He gave a confused shrug in return. "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy— but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have the great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—" 

Dumbledore was cut short with a loud bang from the back of the hall. The doors had been thrown open, and a rumble of thunder shook the ceiling. All eyes in the hall turned to see who had entered.

A disheveled-looking man in a black cloak, supporting himself on a staff, lowered his hood and clunked up towards the front of the room. As he passed the students, and everyone got a good look at his face, whispers rippled down the long tables in his wake. 

Once he reached Dumbledore, he shook his hand, and then promptly sat down in an empty seat indicated to him by the Headmaster at the teachers' table. 

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore, as cheery as before. "Professor Moody." 

Wait. Like, Alastor Moody? Sam didn't know much about the guy personally, but apparently he'd been one of his dad's favorite people in his younger days. He was quite an accomplished auror. His dad would often tell him stories of all the opportunities he got to work with him in his position on the administrative side of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. 

These days, though, the only stories he heard about him were from the papers, and they described a paranoid old man. 

After another eruption of whispers, Dumbledore cleared his throat to quiet the room down once more. "As I was saying, we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year." 

"You're JOKING!" came from the Gryffindor table. Likely one of the Weasley twins. They'd made a name for themselves being loud. 

Laughter sounded throughout the hall. 

"I am _not_ joking, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore. "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar..." 

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. 

"Er— but maybe this is not the time... no... where was I? Ah, yes, the Triwizard Tournament... well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who _do_ know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely." 

Fortunately, Sam did know quite a bit of background about the Triwizard Tournament, including why it was disbanded. It was one of the things that had most interested him about European Wizarding World history. 

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament, none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger. 

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons prize money. 

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age— that is to say, seventeen years or older— will be allowed to put forth their names for consideration. This is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion. I, therefore, beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!" 

The Headmaster sat back down and everyone began chatting again, this time with much more energy than before, and stampeding towards the doors to the Great Hall. 

Cho stopped to wave Sam to walk with her little group, and as soon as he caught up, they began listing people they believed might submit their names.


End file.
